


if this feeling flows both ways

by pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Banter, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Sexual Tension, Super Soldier Serum, Trust, Violence, imagine a road trip au with spies and lots of gross feelings, not really a CATWS au but there are some throwbacks to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallisons/pseuds/pr1nc3ssp34ch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spy movies always made it seem so intense. Every five minutes someone was trying to shoot at the protagonist, everywhere they went there was an enemy in hiding. The reality of it was a lot more... boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if this feeling flows both ways

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever fill for the Sciles Reverse Bang! Super happy to be a part of it, especially considering I wasn't even signed on until way late in the game, but I loved writing this. Thank you so much to my artist, [argent-means-silver](http://argent-means-silver.tumblr.com), who was wonderful and who I hope won't be disappointed that my fic was quieter than originally anticipated. This probably isn't the high-action espionage AU that was originally on the prompt, but I have to be me, you know? There's still action! And mystery, just... with a lot of angst and waxing poetic everywhere.
> 
> I also apologize for posting so late! My computer lost its memory and I had to rewrite from scratch, so I hope I haven't just gone insane.
> 
> Thank you to the beta who must not be named as well as my second beta reader [Carrie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep), because both of them are angels. Thank you also to [Lydia](http://scottinpanties.tumblr.com), who is the only reason this fic exists at all. 
> 
> There are some strange POV changes here, so if you're interested I break them down like this: each page break signals a switch between either Stiles or Scott. Italics are told in second person, present tense. Those are flashbacks. The weeks they spend on the run are told in third person, past tense. The 24+ hours they spend preparing to take down Peter and Deucalion, and then going through with it, are in third person, present tense. The tense and POV change to reflect either the passing of time or the changing of character. Each change is deliberate and serves a purpose in terms of setting the tone for those scenes, and each scene told from either Scott or Stiles' POV is told from that specific person's mind for a reason. That said, I hope it isn't too confusing for anyone!
> 
> Background Relationship(s): Braeden/Cora, Allison/Derek (could be platonic, you choose), previous Scott/Allison.
> 
> Title Song: Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys.

**June 17th**

 

_A door opens in Prague. The lights flicker softly; this hotel was once in use, but that use ended years back. The electricity now has been hijacked from the buildings surrounding it, and this floor is far too unimportant to worry about. In front of you, Stiles curses as he moves his goggles, squinting into the light._

 

_"Too bright?"_

 

_"Too bright," Stiles agrees, turning down the hall. You follow him to the stairs, but when you open the door, Deucalion and Ennis are standing behind it. Ennis grabs Stiles, one hand on his throat as he moves him into the inky blackness behind them, and you're frozen, terrified under Deucalion's sightless gaze._

 

_A needle pricks your neck, and it's cold, everything's cold --_

 

 

 

"Scott!" 

 

He blinked his eyes open, straining them even against the dim light of the hotel lamp sitting on Stiles' side of the room. Stiles had a hand on each shoulder and was sitting on his hips, causing Scott to furrow his eyebrows. "Hey."

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Hey yourself, I thought I was going to have to punch you."

 

He brought his hands up to rub the sleep from his eyes and, after a moment of hesitation, Stiles let him go. He didn't roll off him, though. "Was I having a nightmare?"

 

Stiles stared at him for a breath. "Something like that. You were terrified."

 

Scott yawned. "It's..." he started, but the sentence seemed to drag in his throat. He still didn't know what Deucalion had done to him, to Stiles, and he didn't... he wasn't sure he wanted to see what was in that bag. That conversation could wait until this mess was over. "It's nothing," he corrected, "Get some sleep; I'll take over on guard duty."

 

It looked like Stiles was going to ask, but he was pretty good about letting things go, when it came to Scott. "Be careful. You're protecting precious cargo." 

 

Scott laughed at he sat up, pushing Stiles to the ground. "Yeah, there's this really important person staying on the fourteenth floor. He's some kind of super human. Oh, and this other guy; he does something too, I think. Seems shifty to me."

 

Stiles tried to look outraged, but he was smiling. "I'll kick your ass."

 

"Because that went so well before," Scott snorted. Stiles  _had_ kicked his ass before, but the last time Scott had finally put the brakes on that, and he hadn't tried again since. Probably trying to get a better feel for Scott's style before coming back for more. Stiles was calculating like that.

 

"You're on in about two months," Stiles challenged, already burrowing into Scott's warm spot as he moved to the chair facing the door. Scott sat down and stretched.

 

"You think we'll be done with this in two months?"

 

"I think in two months if we aren't done hiding, I'll be so stir crazy you'll have no choice," Stiles said into the pillow, and the tension under everything he said made Scott want to  _do_ something. But there was nothing to do.

 

Nothing but sit and stare at that door, waiting for it to move.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**June 20th**

 

_You haven't seen anything for days. The room is so black, blacker than anything you've ever known. You are nine years old. But it's okay._

 

_Your father is the Sheriff, and he has to be looking for you. He can do anything._

 

_At night you dream about the last time you saw each other, about the blood trickling down from the middle of his forehead. He didn't say anything. You're terrified of forgetting what he sounds like before he gets here. Because he will, he has to. He'll come._

 

_A grate in the wall moves and you scramble towards it. Inside the hollow there will be food. Bread and cheese and water. Every day they give you bread and cheese and water, and every day you want to throw it back. But you don't. The human body doesn't last long without that kind of stuff, you remember reading about it. So you sit and you eat and you try your best to hate them enough to call them into this room with you._

 

_Sometimes, you want to kill them. Most of the time you just want to hear the sound of another human voice, even for a moment._

 

 

 

Stiles woke up the moment the light hit his eyelids. It had always been like that, for as long as he could remember, and anything else... he didn't find worth remembering, anymore. He got tortured enough in his day job. Scott was standing by the window, leaning against the wallpaper and looking like he hadn't moved in hours. It was plausible; he liked the stillness in the same way that Stiles did, if for different reasons. 

 

He used to fidget, once, maybe, but it was a long time ago.

 

"Morning," he said, voice alert but roughened by sleep. Scott pushed off the wall slowly, as if coming out of a daze, but he smiled. Stiles liked that smile more than he let on; it was so genuine it made something inside of him ache and shatter, every single time. He didn't feel things that way anymore, not until Kira, and then Scott. It was like coming into the light.

 

"You always do that."

 

"What?"

 

"Wake up with the sun. I keep forgetting to pull the curtains so you can get some real sleep."

 

Stiles blinked, a little bit too touched for five in the morning, and sat up. His hair had to be everywhere and the sheets disgusted him if he spent more than three seconds considering them, so he stood, shuffling to the bathroom. It was good to let his body wake up slowly, though he still felt a little off kilter. Being in hiding meant that if Scott wasn't waking him, there was nothing... urgent to do.

 

Good now, but how long would that last?

 

Putting his thoughts aside he stripped down, sliding inside the shower and turning it on with himself inside. The initial burst of cold water before it started piping in hot was enough to drag him into full consciousness, and by the time he was out he was awake, only part of the mirror steamed by the experience. His hair was uncomfortably flat, after showers; his landlord in the city knew him as the hedgehog, when he'd still been living in the city. He wondered if anyone had been to take care of that, or if they'd come to throw his stuff out after he missed his rent this month.

 

They wouldn't find much to throw away. 

 

He opened the door before shutting it tightly behind him, knowing Scott secretly liked it when the bathroom was still warm when he went in for his own shower. The man in question was in the middle of undressing, sliding his shirt over his head and causing the inhuman musculature of his back to shift enticingly. Stiles leaned back against the door a moment, watching, hair dripping against his bare shoulders. He hated staying in the towel for more than a few moments, hated feeling so exposed, but just then... he got distracted.

 

He cleared his throat when Scott moved for his jeans. "Shower's free."

 

Scott nodded and moved past him, his shoulder brushing Stiles' as he went by. They were always close, it seemed; like they were slowly moving in orbit. Maybe one day their paths would cross, two colliding planets exploding into a million tiny pieces. Stiles didn't know. He'd never studied that type of science.

 

But when the bathroom door closed and he started getting dressed, he couldn't help letting out a sigh he hadn't known he was holding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**June 27th**

 

It was blindingly hot. Scott had never been to Greece before, but Braeden had sent him the flight itinerary and which identities to use with a bonus "erica says have fun for once," so he figured it was probably meant to be a treat. It was a little more like torture.

 

Stiles owned absolutely nothing but black, considering they hadn't exactly planned this trip, so he'd been going around for days in nothing but dark jeans. Literally nothing. Scott doubted even boxers had made their way into that ensemble -- shoes certainly hadn't made the cut. The more anxious he became about the state of their fugitive status, the more he couldn't seem to keep still, pacing the deck outside for hours on end. Sometimes Scott watched through the window, other times he couldn't bear to look at all.

 

It'd been three weeks of them trapped together like this, always careful not to step on each others' toes, both physically and metaphorically, and it was driving him insane. It wasn't -- Scott didn't  _live_ this way. Even when he was a kid, and his mom used to hold him on her lap while she worked because she couldn't find a babysitter. Then later, in the military, always able to hear another person breathing only inches from his side. Back home, in the city, Lydia would often curl him around her body on the couch and make him watch the Notebook with her after a mission. He didn't have a permanent home, didn't need one; someone was always willing to keep him around for a little while.

 

Stiles was different.

 

It wasn't that he didn't want to be close, because he did, always sliding his arm past Scott's when they had to walk by each other, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder rather than any verbal cue, physically holding Scott down (and through) nightmares more often than not. But he very carefully kept distance between them. It was like that when they'd just been partners, too, always dancing on the edge of real trust before backing off again. It had taken months before Stiles would even sleep in his presence, and even then, he tossed and turned. As they went on the run, he began to sleep stock still, almost like he was only pretending. Scott only knew by the deep and heavy breathing and the slow beat of his heart that it was real. There were advantages to being able to hear a heartbeat.

 

Like the way Stiles' beat faster when their skin touched, or the way he turned his back to Scott and the rhythm never faltered with adrenaline. Stiles trusted him. With his life, with his safety.

 

But not with himself. 

 

Twilight was finally turning to darkness, though that darkness didn't really penetrate the heat. Scott slid out of his shirt and kicked off his shoes before sliding the glass door open to grab Stiles. "C'mon. Midnight swim."

 

Stiles turned from staring at the moon to grin, a little wild and reckless. There was a feral edge to his eyes that never seemed to go away, not until he was well into a mission and the spark had gone cold and merciless. It was a testament to the European summer sun that he wasn't snow white against the glow of the moon, but his teeth were almost luminescent. 

 

"Creepy," Scott commented.

 

"Tricksters like to creep."

 

Scott shrugged, because there was no arguing there. He didn't know the story of how Stiles came to be known as Trickster, never asked, but it was a code name that sure as hell seemed to suit him. He could creep up on Scott, after all, and Scott's hearing was more enhanced than a wolf in the wild.

 

"C'mon, the beach is closed at night and I know you love doing illegal things."

 

There really wasn't an argument to that, either. They carefully made their way downstairs so as not to wake anyone, bare feet hitting the plush carpets without a sound. At one point Scott practically ran into Stiles' back, startling himself into a fit of laughter. He hadn't done such a bad job of sneaking around since before he'd been Changed.

 

"Christ, Scotty, you're a  _spy,_ you are The Worst."

 

"You," Scott breathed out heavily, "You've been a spy longer, shut up, shut  _up,_ just  _go._ "  


 

Stiles opened the door and they tumbled into the heavy night air, the sounds of the city bustling sharply in Scott's ears as they adjusted. He could smell the salt and the sea already, practically felt the seaweed against his skin. "Race?" he asked, elbowing Stiles.

 

He glared, jokingly. "You're literally  _super._ That's cheating."

 

"I'll run at human speed?"

 

"You'll  _let me win,_ really, how nice."

 

"Fine, fucker, I'll leave you in the dust."

 

Stiles' smile crept onto his face, always so careful and open and only for Scott. "Alright, you're on." 

 

It only took about a minute for Scott to win, even with Stiles stopping to pelt him in the back with rocks. He was the dirtiest cheater Scott knew. Stiles hit the sand about five seconds after him, at which point Scott had already stripped out of his jeans, and he dove towards the deeper waters so he wouldn't have to see Stiles taking off his clothes again.

 

Twice a day was already way too much. 

 

Stiles whooped as he crashed into the water, and Scott wondered how long it had been since he'd made that sound. Stiles could be funny, he could laugh, he could joke and he could be a little wild, but he was always... tight. The muscles in his back tensed to move at any moment, his eyes scoping every room, every place, for danger. He never let his guard down. These last few weeks had been... dreamlike, almost. He'd wanted that closeness with Stiles since the beginning, didn't feel right being partners with him and not  _knowing_ him, inside and out. It was what he wanted, but not like this.

 

 

 

_You wonder who built this hotel; it's like a labyrinth, and you were never good in corn mazes. "You're sure we aren't lost? It's kind of time sensitive," you remind Stiles, who rolls his eyes._

 

 _"We're fine. Calm down; don't have to be super human to hear_ your  _heart beating."_

 

_The thought trips you up, the idea of Stiles being able to hear what you do, being able to know -- but you cut off that thought before it gets ahead of you. Push forward, following behind him, trusting that he knows where to go. There was never really any doubt about that, but you like to remind him that you're comfortable, that you trust him. You can see it sometimes, the doubt; he's only worked with one other person before, and the others... they're afraid. Of what he's done, of what he might do next._

 

_You're too busy being afraid of yourself to be afraid of him._

 

_You hear movement in the corridor below. "Someone's coming, move!"_

 

_You both duck into the room beside you; the power for the locks to these rooms has long since died out. You stay pressed against the door, Stiles so close your sides touch, thigh to shoulder. Both of you listening for what's to come. Preparing for whatever you have to face, next. It's something you picked up from Stiles, about not rushing in when you don't know what's coming next._

 

_The door opens from the stairwell, and you can hear the sound of a cane hitting the carpet. Footsteps, slow and careful, follow, and your breathing shallows._

 

_"Hello, Scott."_

 

 

 

"Scott!" 

 

He'd spent too many days being woken by that same tone that he couldn't help but respond, taking a sputtering breath. Stiles slapped him clear across the face, and Scott coughed, clearing water from his throat. For a moment they just stood there, the waves swaying them back and forth.

 

"You didn't come up for air," Stiles said, as if that wasn't obvious.

 

"I got distracted."

 

"Yeah, well don't, okay? The beach was supposed to be exciting, you're not supposed to terrify me five seconds in."

 

Scott put a hand on Stiles' shoulder, which was freezing cold and a little gritty with salt. "I'm fine. I didn't mean to scare you."

 

Stiles sighed. "You never do."

 

And whatever  _that_ was supposed to mean, Scott didn't know. A wave crashed him forward, almost pushing him to bowl Stiles straight over, and they let out reluctant laughs. "Want to go back?"

 

"Yeah," Stiles replied, "You ruined it a little."

 

"I'll try to have my distractions happen on dry land from now on. Should've known -- Alley Cats hate the water." 

 

Stiles groaned at the nickname. As they waded back to shore, Scott hit the water out of his ears, trying to get his hearing back -- there was an uncomfortable loss in his left ear. He shook his head, clearing the rest out, and was putting a hand out to grab Stiles' shoulder and dunk him when he heard footsteps on the beach.

 

He grabbed his shoulder to stop him, instead.

 

"Two heartbeats on our left."

 

Stiles tensed. "Friendly?"

 

Scott shrugged.

 

"Let's see." 

 

As quietly as possible with the waves crashing around them, they made it to shore, ducking behind a large boulder. Scott thanked Braeden, Cora and Erica for picking Greece instead of a place like Hawaii, where there might not have been any boulder to hide behind. Stiles followed his lead here, which was one of the things that made working with him so easy; he recognized when he wasn't the one with an advantage. In this case, Scott was the one who knew how far their would-be attackers were from their position, and would hear and sense them coming long before Stiles could. He could also smell gunpowder, which he didn't, thankfully, but that didn't mean they would be able to let their guard down.

 

"They're quiet," Stiles murmured, close enough that Scott could feel his breaths, the barely there brush of his mouth against Scott's neck. It wasn't the widest rock formation, and there was really only one place to hide, but it didn't make it any easier to ignore the feeling of Stiles' mouth on his skin. Scott exhaled slowly. "Could be tired, walking back to the hotel after a party?"

 

Stiles snorted, and the puff of air that left him ruffled the hairs on the nape of Scott's neck. "And I'm Shirley Temple."

 

Scott tried to force a chuckle down, but he let a tiny piece of it escape. "Alright," he murmured, "Do you want a confrontation?"

 

"Well," he felt Stiles smile against his skin, "You  _did_ ruin my fun earlier..."

 

Scott rolled his eyes before remembering Stiles wouldn't see it. "If you want to take your frustrations out on two unsuspecting agents who probably think they've caught a dead end trail? Be my guest. But don't kill them."

 

Stiles leaned around his head to give a wicked smile. "Like I said. Ruining my fun."

 

It never did well to examine those moments, when Stiles hit a little too over the line of moral ambiguity. Sometimes Scott felt like he could cut himself on Stiles' smile, but it winked out of sight between one blink and the next as Stiles stepped into view. Their potential threat wasn't far behind.

 

"Look what we have here," Stiles said quietly, that sharp, sharp smirk still covering his face. No, not covering; fitting right into place. That was the thing Scott was still trying to reconcile. It wasn't someone else that liked to make others feel pain, to be in  _control,_ it was Stiles. It was just as Stiles as the Stiles he woke up to every day.

 

It didn't scare him in the way it probably should have. 

 

The first thing Scott noticed was that they weren't from the Pack. Weren't even Omegas. They'd attracted third-party bounties, or maybe they'd contacted the local authorities. The latter was more likely. They weren't detectives, but they were part of the tourism police force. They'd probably been warned to be on the look-out for anyone suspicious.

 

"Stiles, no."

 

They must've seemed quite the pair, Stiles with his deadly smile and Scott, calling him back with two words, both of them in nothing but their underwear, clothes strewn across the rocks a few feet away. Scott stepped in front of him so he could talk to the officers, who looked both confused and wary. Good; they had the right instincts.

 

"Is there something wrong, officers?"

 

There was a tense moment of quiet, but one of the women answered, "Nothing too bad. This beach is private; overnight swimming is off limits."

 

Scott gave them his most innocent frown. "Really? We had no idea; we just wanted to swim when it wasn't...  _so_ hot." The officers laughed. "We promise to stay off it from now on. Just let us get our clothes and we'll go back to the hotel."

 

The officer who hadn't spoken before spoke up now. "No private beaches in America?"

 

Scott gave her a smile. "We don't live by any, no. It's a big country."

 

She still looked suspicious, but mostly because her eyes had flickered over his shoulder a moment. "You and your... friend, would do well to remember. We don't want to arrest anyone, but we will, if it comes to that."

 

Using every ounce of charm he could muster, Scott smiled again, gesturing to where they'd left their jeans. "We'll only be a minute, and then we'll be out of your hair. Thanks for not arresting us, I guess?"

 

The first officer cracked a smile. "No trouble. Maybe come back during normal hours, before the sun gets too high."

 

"We'll be sure to," Scott replied, dying to get his clothes and get out of this mess. The two officers nodded and went on their way, probably making rounds, normal routine. Scott let out a breath and turned to Stiles. For a moment, he couldn't tell what would happen next.

 

Then Stiles began to laugh.

 

"This," he choked out, "is honestly the least illicit thing I've ever been almost arrested for."

 

The corner of Scott's mouth quirked before he headed for their pants, Stiles following a step behind him, still laughing every few breaths. "Can you imagine? World famous former assassin, arrested for skinny dipping."

 

That time, Scott  _did_ grin, and it wasn't to play up charm. "We weren't quite skinny dipping. The arrest warrant would probably say trespassing." 

 

"I'll make sure to keep your rigid definition of skinny dipping in mind," was all Stiles said as he pulled on his jeans. Their boxers were both still wet, but there wasn't really another option until they got back to their room.

 

"I think that's enough law breaking for at least twenty-four hours," Scott said as they made their way back to the hotel.

 

Stiles scoffed, and Scott couldn't help but remember his breath against his neck, shoulder to shoulder, Stiles' mouth curving into a smile against his back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 3rd**

 

_You get through each day by what you know. Maybe that's why you hate today so much. Yesterday, you knew Deucalion was lying low after being humiliated by Stiles' turnover and an escape in his lab. His prison. Today, you know that Deucalion is free, and you know that you've done that. You know that it is your fault._

 

_Yesterday you knew you were doing something good again. Today you don't know if you were ever doing good at all._

 

_You do know Cora. You know her and you're glad to have her as you and Scott wait for Allison. Boyd left already, doing damage control, but Cora stands sentry over you both, eyes scanning the hall before you, gun ready and in her hands. You know, with some shock to you, that these people are your friends. You once told Scott this business didn't lend itself to friendship, but now you know you're wrong, because only people that love you, in any way, would believe you now. Admittedly, the evidence doesn't add up; why would people Deucalion tortured and remade be so eager to set him free? But the Pack didn't see it like that. Derek's communicator sent the order and that was enough._

 

_But your friends are there and they believe you._

 

_Scott murmurs "I hear footsteps," and Cora aims her gun, but it's only Allison. You wonder if anyone in the world has been relieved to see her the way you are right now. Neither you nor Scott are particularly battle ready._

 

_"Is Derek safe?" Cora asks, which makes sense. He's her brother, after all._

 

_"He's lying low in a safe house. He'll be staying here, you two will be leaving."_

 

_You grit your teeth. Just another thing to know and dislike._

 

_"Why us?" Scott bites out. "We want to help!"_

 

_"You're a liability," Allison argues, in a way that suggests she's already had this discussion with Derek. "You're the ones they're really looking for. They know Derek's no threat, his position is merely a figurehead. Even he knows that. Not you two. You two... you fight. You win. That's too much to let disappear into the wind. If you go, you give us time to figure out who really ordered you to free Deucalion, and then we can bring you back."_

 

_For a moment, it looks like Scott is going to argue again. You vehemently agree. Something in Allison's face softens. "We won't take him out without you, Scott. Without either of you. We won't do this without you."_

 

_When Scott sighs, it feels like he's saying everything you don't know how to. You don't know who he is to Deucalion, what he did, what was done to him, but you've never felt more connected to anyone human being in your life. It's the first time you've ever met anyone else like you, even if Scott is far more extraordinary than you ever were, in every way._

 

_"Let's go," you say, breaking the silence. Scott turns to you and nods, just as you hear the elevator doors open._

 

_"That's our cue," Allison whispers. "Scott, we've contacted your jogging partner. Go to her place, she'll get you on a plane."_

 

_You don't know what she's talking about, but Scott clearly does, and that's enough for you._

 

_You trust him. You know that more than anything else._

 

 

 

"Stiles? We're stable."

 

Stiles opened his eyes. It wasn't that he couldn't handle flying, because he could; he could have grit his teeth and borne the brunt of his anxiety all through their take-off, never saying a word. That was how it had always been. Pretending, though... it didn't really work when you had a partner who could scent anxiety and hear your heartbeat. Scott had noticed the moment they'd gotten off Braeden's loaned-out bike and gotten on the jet. Ever since he'd been the exact balance between caring and stoic on the subject, letting Stiles do whatever he wanted to take his mind off it and not saying a word. 

 

Sometimes Stiles wondered if Deucalion hadn't given him some sort of empathy power, too, just for kicks. 

 

Scott slid the window shut now that Stiles was using his eyes again, without a word. If Stiles asked, he'd probably say he didn't like the way the sun blinded him; he  _did_ really have sensitive eyes, but he also knew that Stiles didn't like to watch the window, and wanted to turn to talk to him.

 

"Where are we going again?"

 

Scott yawned. "Don't care. Not Prague?"

 

Stiles offered a careful half-smile. "Never again, huh?"

 

"More like every night."

 

Stiles frowned. "Are you developing astral projection powers you didn't tell me about? Because that's totally unfair."

 

Scott punched him in the shoulder, laughing a little. This was good; he liked making Scott laugh, and it helped them seem normal to outsiders. Not that he'd ever mention that to Scott. He always got a sour look on his face when Stiles did things like that, like constantly wondering what he looked like to people made him weird.

 

It didn't. He was very good at giving people what they wanted. What he wanted more than anything, in these weeks with Scott, was to give him what he wanted. 

 

"No, it's not that exciting. Just dreams."

 

Ah. "The nightmares."

 

After a beat, Scott shrugged. "It's whatever."

 

It wasn't whatever. Scott didn't know what he did in the night, didn't know that in the moments before Stiles could wake him up he was screaming. Pleading. Always with Deucalion, his voice always broken in a way he'd never heard it before. 

 

Dreaming about Prague made a lot of sense.

 

"I dream about him too," Stiles said quietly. This wasn't a conversation for others to hear, but they were on the earliest flight possible and almost everyone around them was sound asleep. The ones that weren't had headphones in. "Not Prague, just... before."

 

They hadn't talked about it. About him. Ever since Cora had informed them of their pasts, they'd been wary of the subject altogether. But they had to face it eventually. Face  _him._ Stiles hated talking, about his problems, about his past, but what he wanted more than anything in the world was to get Deucalion's blood between his nails.

 

He was a little bit of a sadist when he had a target in mind, but this was for a good cause.

 

"He's the one who made me... like this. I used to be normal." Scott snorted. "I had asthma and everything."

 

Stiles raised his eyebrows. He hadn't considered that. For some reason, Scott was always strong and protective in his mind, powerful -- he commanded every room he entered, while Stiles preferred to slink in via the shadows. He imagined a scrawny boy who fumbled with his inhaler and wanted, more than anything, to be a soldier, and a fierce, urgently protective feeling welled up in him at the thought. He squashed it down.

 

The Scott he knew was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. 

 

"He gave me my name."

 

Scott looked at him and it felt like his stare could've passed straight through, painful and too observant. "Stiles, or Trickster?"

 

Stiles shook his head. "Trickster is from... someone else. Stiles is his."

 

Scott put a hand on his shoulder. "Stiles is  _yours._ Even if he thought of it first, you kept it. You made it yours. It's like this... power, that I have. I thought he was -- I thought he'd made me into some kind of monster. Those first few months, I was bursting through solid walls, demolishing anything and everything in my path. I never wanted to be different, but he gave that to me. I am what he made me. This strength, my abilities... they wouldn't be there without him. And still, look at all the good me and you have been able to do. You as Stiles, and me with all of... this. We took what he wanted and we made what he hated from it. It's ours."

 

Stiles didn't know what to say. Couldn't have said anything if he tried.  _He_ was the talker, the one who hid behind his words. Scott wasn't one for rambling speeches, and now Stiles knew why. It felt like every word was laced with emotion, and that kind of vulnerability was dangerous. Whoever he gave that to... had a kind of power over him. And he shouldn't ever have given that power to Stiles. 

 

But he had. Stiles was a selfish creature; didn't know how to be anything else. The fact that Scott had so thoroughly opened himself up for whatever Stiles wanted to do was... deliciously tempting. A golden boy with a heart of fire and warmth and Stiles could take it, all of it, and destroy him. Keep him going, get him to divulge everything to him and use it to absolutely ruin him. Scott was making the number one mistake. 

 

His eyes, trusting and considerate, conveyed nothing but the wish for Stiles to feel better. There wasn't a selfish need in them, to better himself; he only used his own story as a way to connect to Stiles', and that realization was enough for Stiles to know he could never, ever ruin Scott McCall. He had all the tools, he was prepared, and he couldn't have even tried. He would have slit his own throat first, slit anyone's throat who tried to do the same thing. There were some things that were made to be left untarnished.

 

Scott was one of those. 

 

So instead of saying what would get Scott to open up, and instead of saying what he thought Scott wanted to hear, he said, "Ours." Because it was the word he was stuck on, and he couldn't quite let go.

 

Scott smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 8th**

 

They'd hit Brussels for a few days, then moved on to Paris. According to Braeden, it shouldn't be long now -- "definite suspect, holding to confirm, stay tuned, don't fuck at the eiffel tower" -- though that last part was clearly a hit at the "obvious" sexual tension between him and Stiles. She'd noticed the moment they'd walked into her apartment, and ever since she'd been giving him subtle messages in their weekly (or sooner) communications.  _Get your act together._

 

Braeden might not have seemed it, with her status as a mercenary and con artist, but she was a little bit of a romantic.

 

It wasn't easy to ignore it, waking up more often than not to Stiles straddling his waist, holding him down as he fought to tear apart nightmares he could never control. It wasn't easy to forget but he did. 

 

That was never his decision to make.

 

"Ever eaten a snail before?" Scott asked, perusing the menus in their hotel room. Each brochure corresponded to a nearby restaurant, and Allison had been a great French teacher when he was still training. Stiles threw a small pillow in his direction.

 

"If you make me eat snails I'm going to smother you with that in your sleep."

 

Scott turned to lean against the desk, quirking a smile over the top of the brochure he was holding. "I can think of worse ways to go."

 

"You -- " Stiles got this look on his face sometimes, incredulous, like he couldn't believe Scott existed. He wasn't sure if it was because Stiles found him incredibly idiotic or because he actually  _liked_ him, and he'd never spoken up to ask. 

 

He raised an eyebrow, and Stiles groaned. "You are literally the worst at this."

 

"At what?" When Scott was a kid he'd become very good at playing dumb. People underestimated him, and that sucked, but it also meant they left him alone when they could've done worse. He knew his face had a puppyish quality, and when he used it, no one ever had to know he was dangerous.

 

He played up that false innocence, watching, waiting for Stiles to make a move.

 

"Didn't they warn you when you started this with me?" Stiles asked, eyes flickering between dangerous and terrified before settling on  _sharp._ Sometimes looking at him felt like being stabbed. "You can't trust me, and you really can't just...  _bare_ your neck for me like that." 

 

"I can't? Or you don't want me to?"

 

Stiles swallowed hard, the animation on his face hardening and going dull. "I want you to." Scott made a noise, he thought, in the back of his throat, but Stiles wasn't done. "That's the worst part."

 

It wasn't surprising when he walked out of the room, but it wasn't a pleasant feeling, either. Scott's treatment had cured his asthma, but he still felt it, still felt like there wasn't enough air in the room. Couldn't breathe in fast enough. Stiles thought he didn't know what he was doing. Stiles thought he was going to get himself hurt.

 

The truth was, he liked the way it hurt, sometimes.

 

 

 

_You're meant to meet your partner in a few minutes and you have no clue what you're doing. Ever since you got Lydia to safety you've been floating, going wherever anyone carried you. Allison was the one who recruited you, the one who trained you, and you love her so much it's painful. It was never going to work, the two of you, but you wanted. You wanted and wanted and now it's over, the training wheels are off. Allison is gone, and it's time to learn to fend for yourself._

 

_You re-read the file you've been given. Stiles Stilinski, code name Trickster, once a world-renowned assassin, now... your new partner. He's been with the Pack for a little over a year, and he's only ever had one partner before you. That partner's name is redacted in the file itself, and you wonder what happened. If they died or if Stiles just didn't want to work with them anymore._

 

_The door opens. A new heartbeat enters the room. You can smell his anger, so much rage you wonder how he does anything at all, and so much pain. He doesn't smell like a person, he smells like a walking time bomb._

 

_"Scott McCall?" he asks, in a lazy, confident voice that doesn't betray the ball of anguish he seems to be inside, or the bloodlust you feel coming from him in waves._

 

_"You're Stiles," you reply, meeting his eyes for the first time._

 

_It feels like diving into a pool full of ice._

 

_"Let's get started," Stiles says._

 

_You decide then and there what your real mission is. It's time to melt that ice._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 9th**

 

It didn't start in any way he really remembered. When Stiles thought of how he got from point A to point B, he remembered leaving, remembered going for a walk on the dark Parisian streets. He remembered thinking about all the reasons his hands didn't belong on Scott's skin, all the ways they'd killed, and tortured, and destroyed. All the things he'd done and all the things he wanted to do. He wanted to protect Scott and he wanted to tear him apart and more than anything he wanted to protect him from  _himself._ Because it was easy, keeping him at a distance when there was always another battle to be won. With everyone else fighting this one for them, they'd been stranded, held together with Scotch tape and hope that they could hold it together long enough. 

 

He was going up to the room to tell him all of that. To explain that he'd gotten ahead of himself, that he hadn't meant to let it get this far. Hadn't meant to let his hands linger on Scott's skin at every possible moment, hadn't meant to meet him, remark for remark, every time. Hadn't meant to want so openly. 

 

_Want is a disease. Purge yourself of it._

 

Stiles remembered hitting the door and watching his hands shake. He remembered the wait, how it felt like years.

 

And maybe he remembered when Scott opened the door, hair wet like he'd taken a shower in the past ten minutes, every ounce of tension leaving his body the moment he saw Stiles again. 

 

That still didn't excuse the way he reached for him, leaning his body back to shut the door and pulling Scott so that he stumbled forward into him. Their first kiss was indistinguishable from their second, and third, and fourth and maybe fifth, each running into one another in a stream of heat. The way he'd moved them put Scott's hands against his chest, tightening minutely against the skin like he wanted to squeeze. His hair was cold and damp when Stiles slid his fingers through it, a shock to the senses, pulling a gasp from his throat. Scott took the chance to break away and breathe, himself, his head finding Stiles' chest and making something inside him feel like breaking down. Scott breathed against his heart and it felt like  _dying._

 

"You weren't kidding," Scott breathed, "About want."

 

Stiles shivered at the cool feeling of Scott's damp hair against his shirt, or maybe at the tremor he heard in Scott's voice, but he didn't reply. Instead, he pushed off the door and, with Scott's eyes like a brand on his skin, pulled off his shirt.

 

Scott exhaled heavily. "And you don't want to talk, either."

 

"Never wanted anything less," Stiles admitted, and there must have been something of the raw, naked feeling he was experiencing in his voice, because Scott didn't push. Well, didn't push him emotionally, anyway.

 

He stepped forward again, right into Stiles' space, and kissed his jaw, sliding a hand from his shoulder up his neck and into his hair before tugging, _hard._ Stiles made a low, hurt sound, and Scott smiled against the skin just below his ear, brushing his mouth over the shell of it. "You want this?"

 

Stiles bit down on a retort. "Yes."

 

Scott's unoccupied hand caught his hip, pulling them close, lining their bodies up as well as he could. "Then  _do_ something."

 

He didn't need to hear it twice. 

 

With a moan he caught Scott's jaw between his fingertips, pulling him up so he could kiss him again. Scott's mouth was full and red and  _wanting_ and he'd thought about this, about them, too much not to take advantage. Not to let himself lick the backs of Scott's teeth and pretend he didn't want to get swallowed up in this, in this feeling, forever. 

 

He didn't even realize he was pushing Scott backwards until they stopped, Scott's ass hitting the desk. In a frenzied moment they both fought to get his shirt off, Scott's elbow accidentally knocking the desk lamp to the floor. Neither of them cared. They'd danced around each other hundreds of times the last few weeks, pretending not to let their eyes linger, but now Stiles had the smooth expanse of Scott's skin all to himself. He ran his hands down his arms so he could touch Scott's tattoo, the one he was dying to ask about but never had the courage to. Tried to run his nails down Scott's chest before he got distracted by Scott's hands unbuttoning his jeans. 

 

"F -  _uck,_ " he breathed as Scott's knuckles brushed his cock. Scott smiled, and that brightness lighting up a moment that should have been dark, that should've been something Stiles could forget, or regret, was almost overwhelming. 

 

"Am I distracting you?" Scott asked, licking his lips, his tongue brushing Stiles' bottom lip in the process. Stiles shuddered in response, because Scott was grabbing his cock through his boxer-briefs in the same moment. "At least you're happy to see me," he murmured, and Stiles groaned, pulling Scott's weight off the desk so he could take him to the bed. The desk thumped against the wall sharply, scraping the wallpaper, but neither of them noticed.

 

He pushed until Scott fell onto his back against the comforter, not smiling but his face still lax and easy. If he had to think about it, Stiles' face would probably be one of concentration. He quickly set to work on Scott's pants as he kicked his own from his ankles, sliding them down Scott's thighs and trying not to moan at the sight. He'd almost always averted his eyes when Scott got to this level of undress, and suddenly, the anticipation was too much. 

 

Stiles crawled over him, pressing his mouth to Scott's again, who moaned under him. Scott's hands found the small of his back and stuck there, digging blunt nails into his skin and pressing their hips together. Stiles gasped at the feeling of their dicks sliding together and pushed down again, this time with intent. Scott muffled a groan against his neck before he bit down, hard.

 

If it had been anyone else, Stiles probably could've killed them. It felt like more than making himself vulnerable, to let Scott touch him all the places where he knew he could also end his life. But Scott didn't want to. He wanted to slide a hand under his waistband and squeeze his ass, wanted to roll his hips up  _deliciously_ just to make Stiles' stutter in response. He wanted pleasure, not pain, and Stiles... he could remember how to be good at that.

 

He  _would._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 15th**

 

Spy movies always made it seem so intense. Every five minutes someone was trying to shoot at the protagonist, everywhere they went there was an enemy in hiding. The reality of it was a lot more... boring. In their seven weeks on the run, he'd learned that much. Even when he had been an agent, there was downtime between every mission, always time to collect and feel safe. Weirdly enough, he'd felt safe with Stiles, too. They'd made each other safe.

 

It wasn't simple, either. They always had to be on their guard, couldn't really stop and see the sights because Europe had cameras  _everywhere._ But stepping on the plane and going home... it felt like a bubble bursting. He wanted this, he reminded himself. He wanted to be home. He missed Lydia, and Allison and even Derek. One late night in bed Stiles had admitted he still visited his old partner, despite her trying to live a normal life these days, and that if he wanted, he could meet her. Stiles thought Kira hung the moon; she seemed to be the only other person that he cared for, and that made Scott incredibly excited to meet her. He was excited to see Braeden and Cora, who he'd heard were...  _something,_ judging by what he'd heard in the background of their last phone call. He wanted all of those things and more, from being home.

 

But he didn't want what he had with Stiles to end. 

 

Stiles, who was sleeping, who couldn't bear to open his eyes until they were stable in the air. Stiles, who kissed his forehead when he thought he was sleeping and pretended not to even want a  _hug_ when he was awake. Stiles, who was complicated and  _ruined_ and who loved to kill as much as he wanted to do the right thing.

 

Scott had only ever loved twice in his life, but both Stiles and Allison were just as beautiful as they were sharp and deadly. 

 

He shook his head, trying to let his thoughts dissipate. It was a ten hour flight, and the moment they hit the ground again they were in danger.

 

There wasn't time to think about any of that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 16th, 1:34 am**

 

Braeden is waiting for them when they touch down, Cora pulling up next to her in one of the Pack cars. "You're fifteen minutes late," she tells them, and Scott walks up and hugs her anyway, bike in the way or not.

 

It's good to be home.

 

"You're sure?" Stiles asks, aiming the question at Cora. "It's him?"

 

Cora looks like death and rage itself. "It's him. Danny managed to recover security footage of Peter entering Derek's office without permission and putting  _something_ on his comm. Whatever that device was, it's how he was able to send the communication from Derek."

 

That is a blow. Not to him, or to Scott, who only had awkward and uncomfortable relationships with Peter, but to Cora and Derek. The only family Stiles ever had was murdered, so he doesn't understand, but he'd kill anyone who tried to disrespect his parents' memory. He tries to be at least halfway respectful now.

 

It makes him feel better knowing he'll make sure to get the opportunity to kill Peter later.

 

They make short work of the car ride, Braeden following behind them on her bike as Cora tells them what little she can. "Allison wanted to tell you the whole thing when she gave the plan," Cora explains, shrugging. "She's the mastermind. We've just been doing what we have to."

 

"And what have you been doing?" Scott asks, worry in his tone. It's something Stiles hadn't even considered.

 

"Well, first we had to get everyone on board, some of whom it took a while to reach, but we needed all hands on deck. That was Derek's job; he was immobilized thanks to Peter's set-up, but we had him working from the safe house. He's not that great with tech, but he's great at getting people to that fond place where they just come when he needs them, you know?"

 

 _Not really,_ Stiles wants to say, but then again, he's never been Derek's biggest fan. He's alright, but he's also weak in some ways. Ways that always made Stiles uncomfortable with the fact that Derek had technically been his boss. 

 

Though that, at least, seems blown, now.

 

"Most of us laid low, since the scrutiny on us was tight. It's no secret that we'd been friends before you guys disappeared, and everyone knows about Allison and Derek."

 

"And?" Scott prompts, looking anxious. 

 

"And nothing. Allison can tell you more, we're almost there."

 

Scott sighs but he doesn't ask anything more, and Stiles wonders, not for the first time, how anyone who cares so much and so deeply could've found it in themselves to give a fuck about  _him._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 16th, 2:25 am**

 

The safe house is almost entirely dark, but Scott knows there's at least one light on, somewhere deeper in the house. His eyes skim the front of the house for anyone lying in wait, but there are no intruders here. Cora opens the gate and they follow her inside.

 

She doesn't turn the lights on but she seems to know where she's going, taking two turns before opening the door to what was probably supposed to be a bedroom. It's clear that Allison and Derek have converted it to a workspace, judging by the massive table strewn with things like blueprints and data sheets. 

 

Every single person in the room looks up, including a face Scott doesn't even recognize. The silence is deafening, and then --

 

" _You!_ "

 

He'd know that voice anywhere. Lydia stands from the far side of the room and crosses it in short strides, and even though he knows there are others talking now, he can't seem to focus on anything else. When she reaches him she slaps him hard across the face.

 

He takes it.

 

" _That_ is for not saying goodbye," she whispers. There are tears in her eyes that threaten to overflow, and Scott doesn't know how to do anything but gather her in his arms and hope that hugging her, just like this, can make both of them feel safe. He hasn't seen Lydia since before his last mission, and he's put off but not surprised by his own tears as they beg to slide down his cheeks. 

 

"It was him," Scott presses into her hair, "It was him and I had to -- if he'd hurt you -- "

 

"I know," Lydia says, shushing him. "I know, I'm the one who figured out it was him. Peter."

 

He pulls away but doesn't quite manage to let her go. "You were working with him still?"

 

Lydia wrinkles her nose. "He liked having me around. I was the smartest person on his team; I think I was like a trophy for him. But it worked in our favor; he didn't watch me the way he watched everyone else. I got him."

 

Torn between anguish at Lydia getting so close to someone who wanted to hurt her, and pride that she's overcome her fears and done something even remotely resembling field work, he kisses her forehead. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to look after you, but I'm glad you took care of yourself while I was gone."

 

Lydia smiles, still a little bleary-eyed, and then begins to laugh. "You're always playing my hero; now I got to watch  _you_ be the confused damsel waiting around for me to save him."

 

Scott laughs back under his breath. "If this is a fairytale, I'll have to tell you, I think someone else already swept me off my feet."

 

"Him?" Lydia turns to Stiles with a suspicious eyebrow raised. She's always suspicious. Stiles is currently talking in low tones to the girl Scott doesn't recognize, and Lydia's mouth turns up at the corners. "I trust he was there to catch you, at least. Kira seems to have a lot of faith in him."

 

Scott's mouth falls open. "That's Kira?"

 

He probably should've known. The girl -- Kira -- is practically bouncing up and down on her toes, and Stiles is smiling in that soft, quiet way he only does when Scott pretends to be asleep. It makes something in his stomach turn pleasantly. 

 

Scott starts to go over to them but is interrupted by Allison instead. "Reunion time can wait, guys. Getting started on this is long overdue."

 

The atmosphere in the room shifts from relief to tension in a moment, but it's the kind of tension Scott relaxes into.

 

A storm is coming; this is just the clouds coming in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 16th, 2:54 am**

 

Stiles has never felt so vulnerable hearing about a mission. Then again, he's never been in a position where he put his heart on the line for not one but  _two_ people in the same day. Yet here he is. As they sit down to begin going over Allison's plan, he feels like his emotional capacity had begun to run very thin.

 

He already feels... too much, with Scott in the room, but to have Kira there is an overload.

 

Stiles is used to seeing her once a month, if he's lucky. He could've seen her more often, but he never wanted to endanger her, or bring her back into this life. She'd been new when they'd been partnered, just like Scott, and he'd never loved anyone in his life before her. Not, at least, that he elected to remember, most days.

 

Romance had never been in their equation, not like it was with Scott. Kira... she's like a safety net. She makes him feel like he can be more than he was, more than he is -- like he can  _do_ more. When she left, it was only that feeling that had propelled him forward enough to even  _meet_ Scott. Now they're sitting on either side of him and he feels wired to explode any second.

 

"Stiles?" Scott asks, voice quiet and without weight. "Still with us?"

 

He blinks and nods and tries not to think about how  _not_ equipped he is at handling this.

 

"Right. As I was saying. We knew we needed someone they wouldn't be watching, so we reached out to Kira. She was more than willing to do what it took to clear Stiles' name, and Scott and Derek's as well. Some of you haven't met her before today, and that was on purpose -- we needed to keep her lying low as much as humanly possible. But she's been a lot of help."

 

Kira pipes up at his side to say "hi" and give a wave. It's no wonder they used to work undercover together so well; she's so bubbly and sweet no one would ever think of her as being deceitful. 

 

"While Kira was doing the work we couldn't, Lydia was keeping an eye on Peter." Stiles notices when Scott tenses and puts a hand on his thigh. He's never done that before, but it seems... right. "Danny got us the footage, but we couldn't call either of you back until we had an opportunity, and that's today. Peter's scheduled a council meeting."

 

Scott frowns. "Is the council corrupt too?"

 

"No," Allison answers, "but Lydia checked in with them when she overheard Peter make the call. They don't have it on record. They don't sound too happy when Peter's name is mentioned, either, which makes us think that if we can get this plan to work... they won't mind the change in leadership." _  
_

"Who would be taking over?" Stiles asks. Peter always said Derek might someday, but the thought makes Stiles want to cringe. Derek's not a leader, not really. That's why it's such a relief when Allison says, "Me."

 

"Good," Scott tells her, taking the words from Stiles' mouth, "You're gonna be great at it."

 

Allison gives him a small smile. "We took a vote while you were gone and it was a big enough majority that your votes didn't count, so."

 

Both of them laugh, and Allison straightens up to get back to work. 

 

"Now. Since his meeting  _isn't_ with the Council, we're fairly certain he'll be meeting with Deucalion. After finding out this was bogus, we did some digging, and he's had several fake meetings since you guys met with Deucalion and Ennis in Prague. Since the council members are anonymous, it makes sense that no one realized; after all, Deucalion runs with four others, and the council is five people."

 

The more Stiles hears the more angry he becomes. That Deucalion, that  _Peter,_ have been plotting, maybe this entire time... They've still had power over him. He thought he was getting out but all he did was get himself into another bad situation.

 

He doesn't realize the hand he left on Scott's thigh has been tightening until Scott reaches down and takes his hand.

 

Stiles freezes. He's never held hands before. But Scott doesn't mention it, so he leaves them there, a little stiff but not... unwelcome. Allison, meanwhile, explains the logistics of what's to come.

 

"The past two times they've arrived in one vehicle, front entrance. They don't want it to look illicit; that's actually been working in their favor. This time it won't. Lydia, I had Danny hack the server and put you on Peter's personal assistance roster for that day. If he asks, tell him it's probably at tech failure and you could use some time to do nothing but look bored. Just don't lose him. I'll be working, as will Cora, Erica, Boyd and Malia, which means we'll be in the building and ready to move. 

 

"Derek will be watching from here thanks to Danny's patch on the security cameras. He'll follow Peter and signal us has he crosses our paths; the security elevator system will work for us here, since he has to transfer every fifteen floors. We'll each be wearing comms and be ready to move whenever Derek tells us to. 

 

"As for you three," she says, pointing to Scott, Stiles and Kira, "you'll have to get in on your own. Danny will probably be able to disable the alarm systems on the back entrance, ground floor. Beyond that, though... well, you're spies, you should know what to do by now."

 

Stiles gives her a thumbs up and a salute that make her look very murderous very fast, but she doesn't say anything. 

 

All in all, it goes like most of their briefings do, aside from the part where they're all in one room lit by a single, floral lamp. 

 

"Get some sleep," Allison says. "Since the plan doesn't go much beyond 'corner them and stop them by whatever means necessary because no one fucks with my friends' after that, you're going to need it."

 

Everyone laughs, and the tension eases from the room, if only for a moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 16th, 10:45 am**

 

Peter's supposed council meeting is set for 11 o'clock, so Kira, Scott and Stiles show up fifteen minutes early.

 

"You don't think we should've given it a bit more time?" Kira asks, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Stiles grins as they slip inside the building, Derek confirming in their ears that the silent alarm remains untriggered, but it's Scott who actually answers.

 

"Give it too much time and we'll show our hand too early. Give it too little time and we'll be too late to help." Scott shuts the door behind them as Stiles shakes his head. "You're rusty, Yukimura."

 

Kira makes a face at him before turning to Scott. "You really think we'll be done in... fourteen minutes?"

 

"We'll get it right, Kira. Don't worry."

 

So far, she's nothing like he'd expected. Stiles hadn't told him much about Kira's personality, but he'd figured she would've been a little more like him. Meeting her... it wasn't what he'd expected. He's surprised she actually  _is_ a spy, though she certainly is agile enough. She also carries a sword at her hip, and judging by the way her clothes rustle, several other weapons are at her disposal. But when she sticks her tongue out it's hard to think  _espionage._

 

The plan they mean to execute is simple. They're dressed the way they would for work, black, moveable clothes. In theory they should be able to blend right in. Scott is a little bit famous, as a veteran and as an agent, but he doesn't get recognized most of the time, not until he's staring someone in the face. Hopefully they can avoid that.

 

Derek will tell Danny when to open the elevators, since none of them have security passes anymore. As they go, they should (in theory) run into the others on their way to Peter's office. The plan is to go in, get Lydia out of the fray, and neutralize the threat.

 

Scott knows that Stiles wants to kill Deucalion himself, but this is about a lot more than them, now. The Pack serves national security and beyond, and they  _need_ to keep themselves in check.

 

Which Peter, apparently, isn't very good at. 

 

Maybe it would've been more dramatic if they'd been caught, but they never are. They get through the first two elevators without incident, and they meet Cora and Erica at the third, which lets everyone relax. It isn't that they didn't think they could do it -- they're professionals, after all -- but the tension in preparation for a fight mounts endlessly. 

 

In the fourth elevator, Scott notices Stiles' hands curling tightly into fists.

 

"Hey," he murmurs, stepping forward and sliding a hand around Stiles' wrist. He doesn't look back at him, but Scott knows he responded to the touch anyway; his heartbeat is enough. After he doesn't follow up, Stiles turns his head slightly and asks, "What?"

 

Ignoring that anyone in the room could see them, that  _Derek_ was probably watching, Scott presses a kiss to Stiles' clothed shoulder. "You're not alone." 

 

He sees Kira smile at him through her reflection in the elevator door and tries his best to tamp down a smile of his own.

 

Stiles sighs and slides his hand out of Scott's grasp, only to come back and slide their hands together. "I know."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 16th, 11:01 am**

 

Stiles has been to a lot of spy movies, mostly for the ridiculousness of it all. Kira loves to go, so whenever a new one comes out he does his best to see it with her. The hyper-reality of movies is always an excellent escape from his own movie-like reality. 

 

The truth about fighting is that it's not like a fight sequence. There's no choppy editing to make it go any faster, no fast-paced music to keep you going. There's only the sound of fist hitting flesh, blades clashing, blood being spilled. There's nothing but the whistle of your own body as it pushes to move faster than your opponent's. Nothing but instinct and thought, careful, everything meticulous and well-placed. The moment you rely on basics alone, you die. 

 

There was talking, before the fighting. Stiles remembers that. Remembers Peter feigning some sort of elegant "I expected you" speech. Remembers Deucalion extending his cane, the blade hidden inside it flipping out as well. He remembers Derek's claws extending (the Hales are a family extraordinarily blessed with the mutant gene) and the way Peter's skin rippled in response, as if he was preparing to become something new. Stiles remembers Cora walking up and getting a hand on him before he realized what was happening, remembers him falling to the ground as the pain began to overwhelm him. 

 

Cora wears gloves for a reason.

 

Deucalion wanted to say his piece too, of course, as Stiles knew he would. He remembers Ennis pacing behind his master like he was waiting to crush Stiles' scull, or maybe Scott's. Maybe anyone's. He remembers the rage he felt, when Deucalion spoke to Scott. When he told him, "I created you, Scott. I made you, and you have always been... mine." 

 

He remembers lashing out but doesn't really remember how. His brain goes into autopilot when he fights, because Stiles knows if he throws himself into it that he'll be too emotional. He'll slip up. So he lets the rest of his brain take over and watches, like he's on autopilot, waiting for it to end. Deucalion's cane is a doubly effective weapon, as either a staff or a spear, but Stiles wasn't trained by Deucalion. He was trained by the Nogitsune. 

 

And Deucalion is blind during the day.

 

It should be an easy fight, but it isn't. Deucalion has clearly kept up his labs, and his strength is overwhelming in the same way as Scott's. He knows, if he let Scott fight him, that Scott probably would have won by now. But he can't.

 

Killing Deucalion would destroy him even if he thinks it wouldn't.

 

Stiles doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't know if he'll ever really know how to be what  _Scott_ wants. But the thing about Deucalion is that it's easy to know what Stiles wants from him. He wants him to die and he wants him to suffer. For killing his parents, for taking Scott, for torturing them both in too many ways to count.

 

He wants him to  _die,_ and it feels so good to knock his cane from his hand and use it to tear at his throat.

 

Stiles feels Deucalion's blood hit his face, but it doesn't matter. It feels  _good._ It feels so good knowing he'll never hurt anyone again, never hurt  _Scott_ again.

 

(He wonders when he stopped caring so much about what Deucalion would do to Stiles himself, and started caring most about what he would do to Scott.)

 

Ennis roars from somewhere very far away, and he thinks he sees Kali back away from the fight altogether, but it's all distant.

 

Nothing can touch him here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**July 16th, 2:48 pm**

 

Scott finally leaves Allison to deal with the mess they've made, going instead to find Stiles. He's sitting against the wall not far from Peter's office and his eyes are closed, hands fidgeting in a way Scott's never seen outside of undercover work.

 

He takes a seat next to him and takes a hand, too.

 

Stiles sits up slightly, blinking, and stares at him a moment. Scott doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

 

"I killed him."

 

Scott nods. "I know."

 

"I liked it."

 

Scott sighs. "I know."

 

"No, you don't." Stiles' voice is beyond exhaustion and beyond frustration. He just seems... resigned. "I liked it. Not because it was him -- I liked it  _more_ because it was him -- but because I like doing it. He said he made you, but he didn't. You're still the same you who enlisted. But me? He let them make  _me._ "

 

Stiles tries getting Scott to let go of his hand, but Scott's a lot stronger than him and isn't giving it up. "If you think so, make yourself again."

 

"What?" Stiles clearly was expecting some kind of reassurance, but Scott knows better. It's not what he'd want, or what he needs. 

 

"People start over all the time. If you don't want to be what you were, don't be."

 

Stiles snorts. It shouldn't be attractive. "As if it's that simple. I know... I know how to be what anyone wants. But I don't know how to be what I want."

 

"You don't have to be anyone but what you  _are._ You think I didn't know going into this? What you were,  _who_ you are?"

 

"I don't know why else you'd be sticking around," Stiles admits. He sounds cornered. Scott wants nothing more than to pull him out of it. 

 

"You think I want it to be easy. I don't. If I wanted things to be easy I would've asked someone else."

 

Stiles' hand tightens in his. "It  _should_ be easy."

 

"But it isn't!" Stiles starts at the yell, and Scott recoils too, though their hands stay linked. "It isn't easy. None of this is. My life... it won't ever  _be_ easy. I don't want to be with someone because it's easy. I want to be with you because every moment I  _work_ for it? It feels like breathing." Scott holds Stiles' gaze even when he tries to avert his eyes. "Like I've finally learned how to inhale. What about you? Do you want... easy?"

 

Stiles lets out a breath. "I think the only thing I have the capacity to want right now is you."

 

Scott's jaw still feels tense, and he knows Stiles notices by the way his eyes linger on it. "Good," he says, evenly. "Then shut up about being someone else and being what I want, because they're mutually exclusive."

 

"Big words, there, Scotty."

 

It's the first time Stiles has cracked a joke in hours, and Scott lets out a breath that quickly turns into a laugh. 

 

Both of them are covered in blood, and Scott tries to listen to the sound of Allison attempting to explain just what had happened today, first to the council and then to the rest of the Pack, but his mind only keeps going back to one thought.

 

_We're okay._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [thenemeton](http://thenemeton.tumblr.com)!


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